


A place called home

by horoniuwu



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25872865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horoniuwu/pseuds/horoniuwu
Summary: Moving forward on the map entails leaving part of the road behind. It is hard when home clings to your limbs, without letting you walk.When you do not even have a home, it is harder.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins & Thorin Oakenshield
Kudos: 2





	A place called home

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Un lugar llamado hogar](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25469719) by [horoniuwu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/horoniuwu/pseuds/horoniuwu). 



> • Disclaimer: The Hobbit is a book written by J.R.R. Tolkien, and also a trilogy of films directed by Peter Jackson.
> 
> • This is a translation of "Un lugar llamado hogar", available on my profile.

Bilbo saw the sunset vanishing behind the horizon and took more refuge in his blankets. The end of the day had arrived, and in moments like that the hobbit was overwhelmed by the nostalgia. He used to remember; sometimes only in a thought that was too long, sometimes in several pieces of memories that took him back to the Shire. 

However, not even thinking about Hobbiton all night long would change the fact that his home was already far behind. Anyways, it never hurts to remember.

He remembered the few friends he had. Or rather, the ones he ever had. Once they became adults, each one went their own way, forming families, and Bilbo was still single at an age that for a hobbit was not really convenient, because youth escaped little by little between his fingers, and after having passed the half-century barrier he was probably doomed to a lonely future. 

He also remembered the whole neighbourhood, at least the area that he knew well in Bag End, the place where he was raised and grew up.

Bag End. Even though each patch of grass had seen him mature through the years, for some reason he never felt it as  _ his place.  _ Perhaps because as a child he had always preferred locations that were outside the populated area, instead of the well-known roads. Or maybe because as an adult he hardly ever left his house, and locked himself in his room reading and rereading maps among other documents. It could be said that his home was only inside his house, and not properly in his neighbourhood.

Sometimes he visited the past and remembered his parents. Bungo, who taught him the importance of valuing home, his own identity, and the bravery that lies behind everyday acts, such as never underestimate or belittle oneself. And, of course, he also remembered Belladonna, his beloved mother. For Bilbo it was complicated to think about assigning her adjectives, since there was no calificative that could describe her with utter precision. She was beautiful, elegant, with always kind hands, and although she never did feats again after being married to Bungo, an adventurous air gave off as she walked. Smart smile, sparkling eyes. She knew the art of plants and flowers, which was transmitted to her son. She also had incredible skills when it came to cooking. However, what Bilbo can stand out the most was that she always had the courage and wisdom to make the best of the worst situations. 

It was not necessary to be utopians, based in vain wishful thinking in the midst of chaos.

To be resilient and persistent was enough. And very strong. 

He remembered, with a smile, but also with nostalgia, because neither of them was at Bilbo's side now.

He felt completely alone when his father passed away and, after eight years, his mother too. He had thought that beyond his home there would be nothing, that he was helpless between imaginary and impossible to cross borders. Bag End was getting too big for him, for him alone. It was no longer worth looking for more people to include in his close circle because probably nobody could understand his thoughts and ramblings.

Only his mother had understood his Baggins side, when a little Bilbo asked for breakfast in bed. Only his father had understood his Took side, when Bilbo returned home at dusk after a little adventure in the surrounding fields, littering the ground with mud and little tree twigs.

He preferred to lose himself in the paper of the maps until he knew them by heart, and to look over and over at the family albums until he stopped feeling so empty.

He thought that he would never feel understood again. He thought, realizing that his mother's death had happened only six years ago. 

Bilbo shifted among the covers and realized that his legs were numb. He decided to get up to mitigate the numbness and to think a little more while the night was advancing.

He remembered the mornings of the Shire, with its air impregnated with the aroma of firewood and food. Everyone had breakfast at almost the same time, and at almost the same time they went to work, each one to their own duty. The sun gently warmed over the green hills, which were decorated by the colourful and round doors of the smials and hobbit holes.

He remembered the evenings of the Shire, when people returned home from their labours, and the families gathered in front of the warm fireplace, and the storytelling and the anecdotes overflowed, perhaps with a pair of pipes or a warm tea with baked cookies.

He also remembered how it was to take a bath in the Shire. For hobbits, it was a real ceremony to prepare the bath: warm water, lots of steam, soft clothes with a lovely clean smell and then a tasty meal. Bilbo reminded with that that he had not had a decent bath for  _ days _ . For now, bath was synonymous of some creek or stream with horrifying cold water, and of course with no steam.

He walked a little sleepy, dragging a couple of blankets with him to a tree trunk not too far from where the campfire was. He leaned his back against it, covering himself again among the warm that, thankfully, had not disappeared. He looked up and saw the stars shining through the thin clouds, illuminated by the bluish glow of the crescent moon.

Inevitably, he remembered the nights of the Shire, so calm and so serene, under the dark and starry veil, with fine trails of smoke coming from the chimneys decorating the sky, the yellowish lights of the candles through the curtains and the reassuring silence spreading around Hobbiton.

Those quiet days were definitely very different compared to the last few days that the hobbit has had, and the Company has not left the civilized lands yet, which it was until the Last Homely House East of the Sea, Rivendell, just west of the Misty Mountains.

Bilbo remembered the comfort of his home with a pout, reluctant to believe he was so far away right now. He missed the food at any time and of any kind if he wanted to, his soft bed, his fireplace and (as stupid as it seemed) he even missed the ceiling. Those were everyday things that he did not take its importance  _ every day,  _ but now that he was travelling outdoors, he valued and missed them a lot.

He leaned back a bit more on the tree, yawning and beginning to blink more and more sleepy. He saw the dwarves from where he was lying down, like bundles arranged around the campfire, one or another moving while sleeping. Almost all of them came from royal lineage, but despite that they had a difficult life (quite the opposite of what one would be expected of a nobleman, with a loose and comfortable routine); fighting against orcs and dragons, leaving behind their kingdoms to settle in nowhere. 

They wandered from place to place.

Now that he practically lived with thirteen dwarves, he realized that it was necessary a lot of bravery to truly feel part of their people. Being a dwarf meant fighting.

The objective of this journey was precisely to return to the kingdom they once left to claim it as their own again, not the dragon's, or anyone else's. Bilbo knew well that that was not an easy goal to achieve.

The hobbit suddenly felt small, smaller than the usual. He felt… well, like when we sometimes complain about trifles or nonsense, while there are other people having really big troubles. Bilbo did not know exactly which part of him fitted into a company of dwarves and their search for the lost kingdom of Erebor, but if he could do something to help them, he really wanted to, and not because of his Took impulses (those which wanted to see beyond the Shire and to experiencing extreme adventures), quite the opposite, it was rather of his Baggins impulses, that part of him that valued the home, the roots of each one, and the wealth in having a place to belong.

His two counterparts, Took and Baggins, would help him to get out of this whole story, because as he had seen with his parents: Took and Baggins complemented each other. He would accept any challenge that was presented in front of him, always without forgetting the objective: to recover the kingdom of Erebor, under the Lonely Mountain. To reconquer a home to an entire people, a place where they can belong.

He yawned again and managed a small smile. Tonight the thoughts left him more satisfied with himself, without too much nostalgia, as in other times. Seconds before falling asleep, he saw in the corner of the eye and under the moonlight a silhouette moved beside him. Fear made his drowsiness escape to who knows where, and without thinking of anything but orcs, trolls and other hideous creatures, he brandished his little sword and aimed at whoever was there.

"Put down your weapon, hobbit," a familiar voice, which sounded not very friendly (to not say  _ nothing _ of friendly).

"Oh, it was you…" he put Sting in his sheath and tried to look unconcerned as he settled back into the covers, however, his hands, rather his entire body was still trembling.

"What are you doing here, away from the camp? Were you thinking about leave?" Thorin asked sharply.

"I was thinking of sleeping somewhere where I can rest my back," Bilbo replied almost immediately, perhaps a bit rough.

That is how the little discussions they had began, which did not go beyond a brusque exchange of words. It was a bad idea to bring two strong tempers together, especially if they used to have opposite opinions.

Anyway, Bilbo did not know if Thorin behaved that way with him because he mistrusted his quality as a burglar (who is he kidding, he was not really a burglar), or perhaps because he never wanted him in his Company, or he simply disliked the fact that someone lazy who knew nothing about effort (according to Thorin's thoughts and, let's say, prejudices) would help them in vital part of the mission. But rightly or wrongly, the leader of the dwarves always found reasons to throw annoying remarks at the hobbit. 

"So, should I assume you're still thinking of continuing the journey?" the dwarf asked again.

"And why not?" Bilbo said, standing up (putting aside the covers, but internally hoping that the heat of them did not escape) to demonstrate some more authority, however, the difference in height was still evident.

"I thought you missed your books, your maps, your pipes and your second breakfasts."

Bilbo held the dwarf's gaze a pair of seconds, while the swaying of the distant fire suffused their faces.

"That's true, I miss them," he finally answered, "but I'm not going back just for that. Hobbits are a brave race too."

Thorin smiled almost instantly, crossing his arms. Bilbo knew what kind of smile that was, one that bordered on sarcasm. 

_ «Why are you like this?» _

"Could you give me an example?" Oakenshield questioned, with his smile showing his triumph in the discussion. As if this were a competition, thought Bilbo.

The halfling pondered; there were not too many examples to name an heir to the throne of Erebor, who also had seen and lived great battles, invasions and crises. Any heroic act would be belittled in front of the figure of Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór.

Bilbo kept silent, fearing that if he said something else he would widen the discussion even more. He was still standing, but not out of pride, but out of dignity. He would not be less. It is true, he was not used to participating in fights, so when he argued with someone he felt uncomfortable; angry and sad at the same time. That added to the fact that normally the issues of dispute with Thorin were about his  _ 'lazy'  _ appearance, his  _ 'small contribution in the Company'  _ and his  _ 'constant problems that end up dragging the whole group.' _

Guilt and remorse was what made Bilbo want to go home and stop causing more trouble. He thought that he did not fit in, that he would not be helpful, that  _ indeed  _ beyond his home there was nothing else, that then he was truly helpless between imaginary and impossible to cross borders. Bag End and the whole world was too big for him.

However, Bilbo was still standing, watching the dwarf in front of him from time to time, while he searched for an answer to deliver. Then, he realized.

No. It was not anger what that bluish gaze reflected, it was something much deeper. Incomprehension.

Thorin was part of the direct of Durin's bloodline, an heir to the kingdom. A Prince. Still, Erebor's reign was truncated; a dragon took over everything, and they had no option but to flee. Subsequently, they moved to Moria, where they had to fight against orcs and other slag, all in order to find a place to live. It was there that Thorin witnessed his grandfather's death, where it was supposed to be his new home.

The dwarves had no choice but to wander the world, looking for some location to settle. Not just a place that belongs to them, but a place to which they can belong.

Thorin had to continue as leader of the rest, as his father was lost since the battle. Yes, they found a place to live, but Thorin did not find his home, and now he was on a journey trying his luck, hoping (with all his heart) to regain what was rightfully his: the throne of Erebor.

Of course, that was not a very pretty life, nor was the happiest story.

Bilbo had his own story, with his own tragedies and his own courageous acts. He thought fleetingly that probably no story is comparable to someone else's, and that he surely could never understand Thorin, and vice versa.

And that was not bad. Not at all.

Bilbo directed his gaze to Thorin's again, he continued observing him, but now he did seem a bit annoyed.

"So do you want me to give you an example?" Bilbo said in a calm voice after that long moment, continuing to keep silent a brief couple of seconds, "Me. I think I can, perhaps, be an example. Or become one," he shrugged, "Although I haven't proved it to you yet… nor to myself."

The dwarf looked at him in brief confusion, but did not say any word, knowing that the burglar had not said everything that he wanted to say yet.

"I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do within this Company, but I'll do it. Whether it's defending a comrade, the honour of Erebor or, even, stealing a dragon's loot; I'm not sure how I'll do it either, but I'll do it."

"I'd like to see that in practice," Thorin affirmed with a bad disguised sneer.

"And you'll see it," the light brown raised his chin slightly, "You yourself witnessed how I brandished my sword when I saw your shadow."

"You were trembling from head to toe."

"But I didn't hesitate."

Silence, and now the roles in the discussion were reversed, with another winner. As if this were a competition, thought Bilbo again, momentarily looking away and separating their glances. 

The hobbit cleared his throat, speaking again, this time with a little more courage. 

"I bet at some point you have also trembled from head to toe, that you have felt unsure and that you have been afraid of something that might seem insignificant, am I wrong?"

Silence enveloped them, and the abysmal darkness that stretched before dawn was heavily present. Bilbo gave a half smile, picking up his blankets to go to put them near the campfire, next to where the others were sleeping, all while Thorin still watched him.

"Just be patient," he said quietly to Thorin, "I'll definitely show my courage, and not for me, but for all of you. I'll help in whatever way I can to get your home back. I already have mine. I don't mind abandoning it if it's to regain someone else's."

Bilbo smiled, and with a nod of the head said him good night, hoping to sleep at least five or four hours.

He also hoped that, even if Thorin could not comprehend him, at least he would understand his point.

Nor that this was a competition, thought Bilbo and fell asleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I hope you have enjoyed your reading.  
> I want to clarify that English isn't my first language, so I know there are probably some mistakes in the writing. Feel free to leave a comment or a feedback.


End file.
